The Good Fight
by Brenna
Summary: An epilogue for The Good Stuff. What happened after the mission?


Jack glanced quickly away from the road to look at the woman dozing beside him with her head resting on his shoulder. It was his injured shoulder, but he welcomed the pain. It meant he'd survived. They'd both survived though many of their colleagues had not. He checked the rearview mirror to make sure he hadn't lost those following him.

As he'd waited for his turn to be tortured by the medical staff in what they euphemistically called a post-mission physical, he'd found a convenient phone. One call to 411 had given him the phone number he'd been looking for, and the helpful operator had even connected him. By the time Janet found him in her office five minutes later, he'd accomplished his task. 

"What are you doing, sir?" she'd asked.

"Arranging a party," he'd replied. "Don't you think we deserve it?"

Janet had turned to look at the main room of the infirmary with a raised eyebrow before replying. "I think the party's already started, sir" she told him raising her voice to be heard over the exuberant shouts and laughter of those waiting for their physicals.

Jack had grinned back at her and agreed then he'd snagged a passing airman. After scribbling out directions, he had passed them to the young soldier with instructions to get the paper copied and spread the word. 

"You did it, Jack!" General Hammond had congratulated him as he'd joined the celebrants in the infirmary.

"We all did it, sir!" Jack had retorted grinning back at his commanding officer. The two men hugging joyfully there in front of everyone. As soon as they'd broken apart they'd each been grabbed by others. It had taken Jack a couple more minutes to make his wake back to Hammond so that he could explain the arrangements he'd made. Hammond had added his stamp of approval and the party had become official.

Now he pulled his big black pickup into the parking lot. He carefully turned off the engine before quietly calling, "Sam."

His quiet voice and the absence of the engine vibration and noise was enough to rouse Sam. "We're there?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jack confirmed as he opened his door. Sam copied his movement on her side of the vehicle. Jack rounded the hood of the truck to her side, and they both waited for Teal'c and Jonas who had ridden with General Hammond and his driver to catch up with them. They greeted the SF's Hammond had sent to guard the door and the security of the party. He'd already made arrangements for those who imbibed too much to be taken back to the base.

"So this is the place, Jack?" Sam asked surveying the building they stood in front of.

"This is the place," Jack confirmed. He draped his arm around Sam's waist as he led the way into the bar. He led their small group towards the lone figure standing behind the bar. "Dave!" he greeted the older man. As the two men shook hands Jack said, "Thanks for doin' this."

"What the Hell happened to you?" he asked pointing to the butterfly bandage taped to Jack's forehead.

Jack looked to General Hammond for confirmation. At Hammond's nod Jack replied, "A very successful mission." When he'd agreed to close the bar for Jack's celebration, Dave had requested an hour to clear out his regular patrons. General Hammond had used that hour to run a quick check on Jack's new friend. Dave it turned out was Major General David McLaughlin (retired) who was former commander ironically enough of the real deep space radar project based at Cheyenne Mountain. He'd retired a year after the SGC's formation to care for his ailing wife. General Hammond's check had revealed that his security clearances were still valid, and so he'd given Jack permission to reveal the basics of the SGC to Dave. He was bound to hear things tonight after all. 

"You're fighting a war in Colorado?" Dave quipped noticing the many bruises and bandages on the men and women he was serving.

"It may not be the good stuff, but you may want a drink after we tell you this," Jack warned as he slid onto a stool and slapped a secrecy agreement down on the bar.

"I know George, but introduce me to the others first," he ordered Jack as he nodded to the others.

"Dave, I'd like you to meet Jonas Quinn and Teal'c," he introduced the men who had entered with him. Then as Sam slipped onto the stool next to him he added, "And this is my wife Lt. Colonel Samantha O'Neill."

Dave smiled and he shared a smile with Jack as he extended his hand to Sam. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am" he said gently shaking the bandaged hand she extended to him. Dave didn't even hesitate as he took a pen from Hammond and signed the agreement. "So I guess you owe me a story," he told Jack. It took them an hour to lay out the basics of the SGC to the retired general. During that time, Jack migrated behind the bar to help Dave serve drinks to the celebrating SG teams. "Okay," Dave said slowly as they finished their explanation. "So we're celebrating the end of the snakes?" he asked.

"No," General Hammond said. "They're not defeated, but we won a major victory."

Dave didn't say anything for a minute. "This was what you were talking about the last time you were in here wasn't it, Jack?" Dave asked. 

Jack nodded. "Silly really," he said with a shrug. "It's not as if we've never gone on missions before. We met because of a mission for Christ's sake!"

"It felt different this time though," Sam admitted. 

"Well, you're both alive," Dave reminded them. He reached over and rang the bell attached to the wall behind the bar. "Can I have your attention, please!" he shouted as the noise level dropped. "I've just been told what you accomplished today, and while General Hammond's informed me that Uncle Sam's picking up the tab for tonight, this next round is on me. Congratulations!"

A cheer went up around the room. A second later Hammond spoke up before the noise level could rise again drowning him out. "I'd like to propose a toast!" he shouted. He waited for everyone to get quiet then said, "To Colonel Ilena Badarenko, Captain Mike Harris, Sergeant Jeff Cox, Airman Jennifer Roberts, and Private Steven Shay." The group somberly lifted their glasses in salute.

"To all those we've lost," Sam added as she clinked her glass against the general's.

"DanielJackson and Sha're," Teal'c said touching his glass to theirs.

"Charlie Kawalsky and Frank Cromwell," Jack murmured. 

"Elliott," Captain Jennifer Hailey added as she slowly approached the group on crutches with Janet Frasier hovering protectively by her side.

"You get a soda, Captain," Janet ordered. "No alcohol with your meds."

"Yes, ma'am" Hailey acquiesced.

The party continued to get louder as off-duty personnel called by friends who were already there arrived to celebrate with their comrades. The alcohol flowed well into the night, but Dave somehow managed to find time to draw General Hammond into the back for a hurried conference.

"Okay, why am I being let into what is probably the most secret project in Air Force history?" Dave demanded as soon as the door to the back office closed behind them.

"Because my people need a place to blow off steam," George answered, "and your bar just became the place."

"Damn it, George!" Dave swore. "I'm retired."

"You're still retired," George assured the other man. "You'll just get to hear some good stories now and then." McLaughlin still didn't look convinced. "Look, Dave" George said. "the base shrink is a quack. He put his first patient on base in a padded cell. Turns out the man wasn't crazy. He had an alien...thing...in his brain. Now none of my people will go near him. They need someone they can talk to. Officially or unofficially...I don't care which. You got Jack to talk! Jack doesn't talk to anyone!"

"Is it that bad?" Dave asked.

"Suicide rate is lower than average," Hammond told the other man, "but you'd expect that in a wartime base. Ulcers, migraines, other stress related illnesses keep rising though. Now that we've hit the System Lords like this..." He knew he wouldn't have to explain to the retired general what the future looked like for his people. There would be more missions like this one and more toasts to fallen friends. 

"Okay, George" Dave acquiesced. "You've convinced me. Now where am I going to find waitresses with top secret clearances?" 

"NMCC's taking care of that," the general told him. "He's asking for volunteers from those who retired from the 89th out of Andrews."

Dave whistled. "NMCC himself?"

"You'll be surprised," Hammond predicted.

In the months that followed Hammond's prediction proved true. Within days of the SGC party he had several walk-in applicants for server positions at his little bar. The first had said she'd heard about the position from her friend George. The second, a man who looked like he ate nails for breakfast and car batteries for lunch, had said he'd heard from his friend, Jack, that Dave might need a bartender who could pinch hit as a bouncer. Dave had thought about how rowdy the party had gotten and hired the man on the spot. A few hours later two women had entered. With a perfectly straight face, the older had said her uncle Samuel had told her he might be hiring. At the same time, the three women who had worked for him for years each suddenly found much better employment elsewhere. The people who worked for him weren't the only thing that changed though. Slowly over the next few months, the bar itself was transformed. It started a few days after the party when a tired looking group of four dropped in for a beer together before going their separate ways for their down time. 

"Here's a tip for you, Dave" Ferretti said as he laid a rock on top of a pile of dollar bills. 

Dave's eyes met those of Lt. Colonel Ferretti. The man threw him a sloppy salute and a smile as he turned and left. 

He picked up the rock and stared at it for a moment before one of his new waitresses, Hannah, came over and took it from his hand. "Whoa," she whispered understanding full well what she held in her hand. She handed it back to him, and Dave put it on the shelf above the bar next to the picture of his wife in her bouffant hair. A few days later, Hannah placed a second rock beside the first. Soon he had a rock collection that would have made the scientists at NASA drool if only they'd known.

It wasn't just the rocks that began appearing though. One day Jack dropped by during lunch with a blue headdress.

"What is that?" Dave asked as he watched Jack carefully nail it high on the wall.

"Ask Sam tonight," Jack told his friend with pure mischief in his eyes.

"You're going to end up sleeping on the couch," Dave warned. 

"Nah," Jack dismissed Dave's prediction with a shrug. "Sam's more creative than that."

That evening Jack lead her into the bar with her eyes covered. When she saw the headdress there was murder in Lt. Colonel O'Neill's eye though Hammond and Jack had a good laugh. Even Teal'c had cracked a smile at her anger. Jack wasn't laughing the following week when they came in for a quick lunch to find a loincloth hanging near the headdress. 

He turned to to Dave. "I told you she was more creative than kicking me out of bed," Jack said.

"I did that too though," Sam added with a smirk identical to her husband's.

Sometimes a name or team designation was attached to the bits and pieces that ended up on his walls. Other times it would be a mystery until someone told him the story behind his most recent decoration. 

The largest wall in the bar was given over to pictures though. The O'Neill's had led the way in this as well. A few weeks after the headdress and loincloth appeared on the wall, Jack invited the few survivors of the original SGC personnel to the bar. When everyone had arrived they once again drank to fallen friends before hanging a number of framed pictures on the wall. On each frame was a small brass plate on which was engraved a name and sometimes a date. After he'd closed up that night, Dave contemplated the men and women in the photos. They weren't posed pictures for the most part. These were casual photos. An officer asleep at his desk. A young airman caught in the shower. A woman in a lab coat bent over a delicate piece of machinery. A young native woman standing with her arms wrapped around her husband. 

Andy, the bartender Jack had found, finished wiping down the bar then came to stand next to Dave in front of the memorial for there was no doubt that was what it was. He stood next to Dave looking at a photo of four men in fatigues posing for the camera in front of a non-descript rock formation. Andy knew many of their customers would think the date engraved below their names was the date the picture was taken. Even the soldiers who sometimes came in from NORAD weren't likely to realize it was the date these men had died. There were many such team photos.

"Who will know what they did?" Andy asked. "What they sacrificed..."

"We will," Dave answered.

"And when we die?" Andy retorted. "This should be remembered. They should be remembered." 

Like many others in the military, Dave was a student of history, and he wanted to record these moments in history that were taking place secretly deep within Cheyenne Mountain. After he'd secured Hammond's agreement, Sam O'Neill had shown up to secure his computer, and Dave began writing the history of the SGC as told to him by the men and women who lived it. He had no doubt he'd be dead before it ever saw the light of day, but someday it would be read. 

Fifty years later, a uniformed man in his mid-forties entered the New York offices of Simon & Schuster. He was politely shown to the office of a mid-level editor in the non-fiction division. "What can I do for you, General?" Pamela Hodgson asked as she gestured to the visitor's chair in front of her desk. Inwardly she was groaning to herself believing this to be yet another general who had written a book of tactics or history that he felt the public would be just fascinated with when in reality the public could care less.

"The President will be holding a press conference in a few minutes," he said. "I thought we might watch it together."

"Alright," she replied now thoroughly confused. She nevertheless tuned her media system to the appropriate channel. "I'm sorry, General. Who are you? Why are you here?" she asked.

"I'll answer that after the press conference," he told her. She eyed him warily for a moment before turning her attention to what the President was saying on the screen. Within a few minutes her gaze whipped back to the man seated calmly across from her. "It's all true," he assured her. He nodded at the screen, and she turned her attention back to the President.

"Why are you here?" she asked again when the briefing was over. 

"I have a story for you," he said.

"About that?" she asked pointing to the now dark screen.

"About the Stargate," he confirmed.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Carter Jacob O'Neill," he told her. "And I command the SGC. My father was General Jonathon O'Neill. He led the first mission through the Stargate and commanded the SGC for nearly ten years after the retirement of the original commander. When he retired my mother, General Samantha O'Neill, took command. She had been with the SGC since the beginning as well. Her father, General Jacob Carter, was our first representative among the Tok'ra. I was born and raised at the SGC."

"Christ!" she swore. "You know it all don't you?" 

"Yeah," C.J. told her as he gently placed a data module on her desk. "And I want to make sure that when their story is told, it's told right. These are first hand accounts of the first years of the SGC's operation which the President has just unclassified. Are you interested?"

Two weeks later The Good Fight: The Men and Women of the Stargate Command was published in both electronic and paper formats. 


End file.
